White Walls

Clean
wiped down, time and again.
the grooves tucking in time,
like crevices, formed by a hand steadier than mine.

and patient. so
patient.

Forgive me, then. My transgression of the modern.
I'm covering your handiwork, your artisan craft.

Two coats of primer, spilled and spilling.
dumped upon the floor, your floor
of hardwood sawed by hands, not machine;
so imperfect, and flawless.

I am washing the walls white - counting the sins in my head:
the futility of frustration, the blaming and squeezing of urgency.
And at the bottom of it all is this: I'm afraid.

I sat next to a headstone of the Hutcheson clan this week, and I remembered
the day I tripped Ryan Smith in front of Pleasantview Elementary -
the meanest thing I've done. ever.
And I ran from all the fights I would ever encounter.
Fearful of the facing of my enemy. Too strong. Not strong enough.

So, forgive me walls. I'll cover you white this time. White-washing the exterior.
Hiding my fear, my shame. But - as I do - I pray:
make in me a cleanness as clean as the snowdrift
upon the headstone and a newness to recover the ancient good.

Wes